Yes, Officer
by Michelle My Belle
Summary: Red and Lizzie go undercover as cops to find information on the Director and discover they each have a taste for a man and woman in uniform. Lizzington. Warning: Mature.


Polished to a brilliant shine, black, standard issue tactical boots hit the pavement in a quick tempo as she strained to keep up. The fitted, navy slacks on her partner left little to the imagination as the woman formerly known as Elizabeth Keen chased Viktor Ivanovich down the littered and grease-stained alley.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath, "twenty years on me and he's kicking my ass."

"Come on, Lizzie," he threw back over his shoulder, still clipping down the alley in impressive fashion. As his long arms worked to propel him forward, she could make out the strong outline of his broad shoulder muscles as they ripped through the air.

Red closed the gap between he and Viktor with a final leap, landing a knee to their contact's upper thigh and using that leverage throw him to the ground. He straddled Viktor's back, gripping the back of his neck firmly and leaning in closely.

"Don't make me cuff you, Vik," he grumbled low, deadly serious. What he lacked in size, he certainly made up for in his foreboding presence and the gravelly timbre of his voice. "You know what we want and you are going to give it to me or so help me God, I'll let Officer Mason have her way with you. She already has a sprained ankle, and after running you down? Well, you really don't want to get on her bad side today."

Lizzie slowed her sprint to a stop in front of the two, the sight of Red on his knees on the ground definitely a first, but definitely not unwelcome. She gaped down at him for a moment, losing touch with reality until Red jolted her back.

"Officer Mason," he gruffed, clearing his throat, "please show Mr. Ivanovich how we thank the FSB for jerking our chains." He leveled his eyes with hers, catching a blink of excitement, maybe even a flash of desire. One week on the run, cohabitating in very close proximity certainly had more than one payoff for Red: he was becoming a self-proclaimed master of Lizzie's tells. He was proud, pompous even to the fact that there was so little at this point that he did not know about her. This, a given in part by the number of years he played the voyeuristic yet secluded and shadowy patron to her would-be destitute, orphan girl and in part due to sharing a bedroom the size of a closet with her. In the last week, he'd overheard things that would surely shade her cheeks the deepest red had she known he was awake to hear and witness.

Those thoughts he would save for another time.

"Sergeant Harding, if you want me to break protocol with Mr. Ivanovich, perhaps we should move this meeting to a more private venue?" she cautioned, lacing her voice with her best impression of dead-serious. Two years out of uniform had Lizzie spoiled wearing comfy, dark denim leggings and chiffon blouses or an occasional pantsuit and silk button down. In the hazy heat of D.C. in July, her baby blue, long sleeved uniform shirt cut her just a bit at the neck, causing her head to involuntarily careen to the left to provide the sensitive skin a brief reprieve. She had complained to Red about the disguise when he tossed it across their bed to her. _It's temporary,_ he gritted at her, and doing their customary turn of their backs to one another, they each dressed head to toe in borrowed D.C. Metro Police uniforms. There was, decidedly, nothing Dembe could not do, nothing he could not get his hands on for Red.

Viktor's head shot up, his nose dotted with gravel and dripping with fresh blood.

"Wait, wait, I'll talk," he ceded, his thick Georgian accent grounding out and reverberating off the brick walls of the turn of the century buildings that lined the alley in Anacostia.

Lizzie crouched next to the man, threading her fingers into his hair and running them over his sweaty scalp before gripping a handful of hair and twisting the traitor's neck toward her sharply. Red's eyes flew up to hers, catching fire, taking a moment to admire the dangerous streak in Lizzie he had heard about but had yet to witness or better yet, be party to.

"The file on the Director, where is it?" she demanded.

"Sole of my left shoe," he coughed, blinking back stinging tears. She released her grip on his hair and reached across him to the false bottom of the shoe. With a jerk of the wrist, the compartment was open and tiny thumb drive fell out into her palm. She closed her fist around it tightly and triumphantly, pressing her other hand to her knee to stand.

"We knew you'd see things our way," Red sneered, releasing his pressure on Viktor's back enough to draw him up to his knees. He stood then, pulling their informant up with him the rest of the way and marching him to the nearest slab of bricks. He narrowed his eyes, holding Viktor captive by the neck and giving him a last look into the storm grey of his stare. Smiling smugly at the man who nearly cost them the biggest piece of their investigation, he leaned in until the heat of his breath and presence was sure to stun the man into submission. "You're on the first flight back to Batumi tonight, or we do this all over again tomorrow," he ordered, releasing his hold.

Viktor took off down the alley and with a quick turn, was soon out of their sight.

"Officer Mason? And why do you get to be a Sergeant?" Lizzie finally questioned, her right palm turned up and her left hand securely planted on her hip. A stance and expression that Red had certainly seen before, but not since the night at the Syrian embassy. He was quick on his feet, a trait he likened to having a background in high school drama and debate. Acting, the masks, the characters and costumes all seemed to come so naturally to him.

"I was in the moment, Lizzie, it just came to me. Maybe you should live in the moment a little more often?"

She exhaled heavily, resigned. "You're right. I need to be more spontaneous. And we did get what we came for, so time to celebrate?"

"I don't know about celebration, but perhaps we can order in tonight? Dembe stashed a bottle of 12-year old, single malt that I've been dying to crack into," he admitted. She slowly crossed to him, her steps measured and steady.

"But I _feel_ like celebrating. And I've gotta be honest, Red, this uniform? It's hot," she volunteered, closing the final distance until a scant few inches remained between them. He looked down at her in something that looked like surprise.

But Raymond Reddington knew everything, anticipated that which he didn't already know and was never, ever surprised.

"Lizzie, it's ninety degrees and Louisiana-like in humidity out here, of course a polyester uniform is hot."

"I meant, it's sexy, Red. The things I want to do to you in that uniform," she said, walking her fingers up from his belly to his chest, drawing lazy circles around the glimmering, bronze badge pinned to his shirt. She ran her fingers down his shoulder and arm until her fingers met with his. Slowly, she traced over his strong, masculine hand, following her movements with her own eyes until she was finally brave enough to drag her eyes up to meet his curious expression.

"Lizzie, are you okay? Is the heat getting to you?"

"It's been getting to me for months now," she confessed, tipping her hat back so she could get her lips close to his ear. "I need you to take me home, Raymond. Now," she breathed the command low and slow, imploring him.

He pulled back enough to see that she hadn't moved, hadn't disappeared and was undeniably serious. Swallowing hard, he pulled her hand up to his lips and grazed her knuckles with a soft kiss, all the while never taking his eyes off of her.

"We should go, then," he agreed, gently dropping her hand and leading her out of the alley and down the street to their waiting patrol car. He wasted no time starting the engine and getting the car into traffic, navigating the side streets of suburban D.C. like they were the Autobahn. He considered turning the car's blue lights on if he hadn't thought the better of drawing unwanted attention to them.

Twelve agonizing minutes later, they pulled into the shanty-like garage that belonged to their safe house for the next few days. The paint showed ages of wear and sun damage and as Lizzie took in the sight, she wondered if these were some of the most deplorable conditions that Red had lowered himself to in recent years. Hiding in plain sight, he had explained to her, often meant a departure from his usual opulent lifestyle. It was, he reassured, a choice he didn't think twice about making for her.

She wondered what would happen within these walls. Would she lose her nerve? Would he?

He pulled back a rusty screen door an unlocked the deadbolt to the house, pushing it open and motioning for her to enter. She took a few steps into the foyer and stopped, steeling her nerves and bracing for possible rejection. The door latched behind her with a loud click and she knew they were now finally alone. Her desire was out in the open. Would he reciprocate?

Before she could overthink it, she spun on her heel and pushed him firmly into the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

"What seems to be the problem, Officer? she played. Without a beat, he spun her into the wall, knocking her hat to the floor and spilling her auburn locks down to her shoulders. She looked up at him, somewhat stunned but excited that he would play along.

"You _are_ a wanted fugitive. Perhaps I should _detain_ you for the duration and pump you for information until I am quite satisfied," he said, his eyes glinting. He was playing along, and she almost couldn't believe it was happening.

"Yes, sir, but you, too are a felon, wanted on many counts. Perhaps you should be detained. Tied up even?"

His thoughts were screaming across his mind, fighting for some semblance of order. His Lizzie was standing with her body pressed firmly into his, offering him everything and perhaps a little role play.

"I outrank you," he said as he crushed his lips over hers, swiftly taking her mouth, her body and her conscious thought. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his hair. He gripped a thigh in each hand and pushed her up the wall, bringing her face even with his own and the heat between her legs up to rest just above his tactical belt. She smelled sweet, like honey and musky with anticipation, the heady combination and the feel of her tongue gliding along his lower lip making his knees go weak.

He tightened his grip on her, sliding his hands around to cup her ass. She followed suit by wrapping her legs snugly around him as he began to climb the stairs to their bedroom. At the top of the stairs, he turned and backed slowly down the hall, using his back to push the bedroom door open. He carried her to the bed and sat her on the edge and as she placed her hands on either side of herself gripping the mattress, she looked up at him, a playful desire in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and slowly stood to meet his eyes, looking up at him and blinking her dark lashes at him.

"So, Sergeant, now that you have me in your custody, whatever are you going to do with me?"

It was real. He wasn't dreaming. She wasn't backing out.

"Well," he said starting to circle her slowly. "Indeed, you have been a very bad girl, Elizabeth. I believe you have the right to remain silent, although, once I get started, you may lack the ability."

She flashed a wicked smile back at him but inside she was losing her shit. Raymond was internationally known for his power and strength, gravitas in all things surely included in the bedroom. She had to keep her head in this game, prove she could be a player just as much as he.

"Sounds like a challenge? I can handle anything you decide to throw at me."

"I guess we'll find out."

She ran her hands up his chest and started working the buttons of the blue dress shirt. He tried to still her hands but she swatted him away.

"Officer, you're wearing entirely too much clothing for an interrogation," she said coyly.

He closed his eyes briefly, relishing the feel of her taking button by button apart and then pushing the shirt down from his shoulders. She was briefly disappointed to find a crisp, white undershirt under the Kevlar vest. This man and his layers. She unhooked the Kevlar, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud. He took over then, opening her blouse and tossing it to the floor, then removed her bulletproof vest to reveal a thin, bleached white tank top with the outlines of black lace underneath. They took turns removing one another's tactical belts but Red was first to reach for the button on her slacks; his eyes never leaving hers as he opened the clasp and pulled down the zipper. Pushing her pants down her thighs to the ground, he offered his hand to help her step out of them; as he came back to face her, he ran his nose up along the front of her thigh stopping briefly near her waist to inhale in her intoxicating scent and nuzzle her belly button. She giggled for a moment at the contact as she cupped his cheeks to bring him back in front of her.

With one hand on her chest, he walked her backward to the bed. She sat and pushed herself all the way back to the headboard, watching him curiously as he reached into the pile of discarded clothing for something. He crawled to her from the end of the bed and straddled her legs.

"Now we decide your punishment," he winked as he reached around for the handcuffs he had pulled from the floor from the waistband of his slacks. He dangled them in front of her, swaying them back and forth like a pendulum as her eyes grew wide. Even in character and partly in costume, he waited for her permission. He quirked an eyebrow at her, characteristically tilting his head to the side just so, waiting for her. She gave him a slight nod, she was all in.

Taking both her hands in his, he threaded the cuffs around the wrought iron headboard before securing the cool metal to her wrists. He wasted no time running his very masculine, strong hands down her sides, stopping for a moment to push her tank up, revealing her smooth, taught stomach, and that's where he started. He peppered kisses there, leaving hot traces of his gorgeous mouth everywhere. Every few kisses, he'd pause to look up at her and in seeing her face light up with enjoyment, he'd take it even further by blowing cool air where his lips had just been on her skin. Lizzie watched him intently, seeing a side of him she was sure would only live in her imagination, her deepest and most secret fantasies, but here he was, in the flesh, working his way down from her belly to her thighs, appreciating every bare inch of her. He again stopped to gain her approval when he reached for her panties, only slowly working them down her legs when she blinked her assent and again pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She'd never know it, but that killed him. A small gesture or perhaps nervous tick of hers, but it drove him insane with desire.

He settled back down on his elbows, finally able to behold her and see her at her most vulnerable. She was so lovely, so unguarded. If this was the only time he'd get to fulfill any of his lingering fantasies about having Lizzie his way, he made every moment count and committed every breath, every sigh to memory.

The first long swipe of his tongue caught her off guard and she gasped. His eyes shot up to make sure she was okay and in seeing her head thrown back into the pillows, knew it was safe to press on. And he did. First, not missing an inch of her warm, wet folds and sending electricity coursing through her body. Her legs twitched with anticipation and shocks every time he grazed over her clit. It wasn't until she felt his fingers, first one, then two, enter her that she lifted her head again to survey what he was doing to her. She looked at him in admiration, seeing that his eyes were closed as he happily licked and sucked every inch of her. Their eyes connected as she let out a long moan that rumbled through her and she wasn't sure, but she could swear that he smiled before going back to his task.

New sensations were devastating her body, a fulfillment she wasn't aware was possible until she came, hard and fast. His fingers had curled up just so, sweeping back and forth over a spot that had yet to be discovered by anyone else; combined with the rapid tickle of his tongue, the pressure just built and built into an ache that finally spilled over into waves of pleasure that left her speechless and tingling from head to toe. She thought she was experienced, thought she knew a lot about her sexuality until now. Leave it to Raymond Reddington to blow everything she thought she knew out of the water.

He worked his way back up to her mouth, blessing her with a long, satisfying kiss with his now softer than usual lips. Something about the taste of her on him sent her need for him over the edge as she wrapped her legs around his tight ass, digging her heels in and pulling him down to her. She was trying to send him a loud and clear message: it was her turn.

"Red, please, let me out of the cuffs," she begged as he sucked and bit at her neck.

"Who's Red? Sergeant Harding is a jealous man. He doesn't like to share," he grumbled into her neck in between kisses.

"If the Sergeant would kindly release me from my bonds, I'd like my turn, please," she played right along.

"I think the point of being in custody means you relinquish control, my dear," he said, finally coming back to look her straight in the eyes.

He pushed himself up to his knees and pulled his undershirt off, revealing his tanned chest with the faintest blonde and red hair scattered across his pecs and just the hint of a trail peeking up past the waist of his slacks. She was dying to reach out and run her fingers through it; it looked so soft and inviting. His flawless skin stretched snugly across his solid, broad shoulders and a little looser across his belly. All these things would have to play on in her mind as he clearly had no intention of releasing her just yet.

He climbed off the bed, then, opening his pants and letting them pool at his feet revealing that he was, as she had always suspected, wearing boxer shorts. His shorts were stark white with navy pinstripes and, of course, he would match even his underthings with his outfits. She filed that one away for later consideration, hoping that someday she'd get to test that theory out as she peeled his fine suiting off of him. Crawling back and straddling her once more, he looked down on her, bound, beautiful and writhing in anticipation.

"Please, Officer?" she tried one last time, adding a touch of doe eyes and batting her lashes.

He took pity on her, after all, it was her first time getting to explore his body as it was his first time realizing his years of fantasy about her. She should be allowed to touch, taste and feel if she wanted to.

"I'll release you, but I'm still in charge. You will do what I say," he winked, once more, trying to remain serious but not wanting to push her too far their first time. Red had some profiling skills of his own. He knew well enough that sometimes extremely strong, smart and independent women like to give up control – every now and then.

"Yes, Officer," she feigned a whimper for him.

Reaching for the keys on the nightstand, he unlocked the cuffs and tossed them aside, taking her wrists in his hands and placing sweet, soft kisses to each. She sat up, pulling her tank top over her head and discarded it to the pile where the rest of their armor lay. Unabashedly, he stared at her cleavage, running a finger down from her clavicle over one curve, then the other sending shivers and goosebumps across her chest. Free from her restraints, she grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a smoldering kiss, their tongues dancing and twirling. The exquisite weight of all of him settled on top of her was intoxicating.

She was impatient beneath him, eager to get a glimpse of him, to feel all of him inside of her. She slipped a hand between them and under the elastic waistband of his shorts. As she thought, he was very much appreciative of the display she had just shown him and her willingness to play along. He broke their kiss, moaning at the feel of her small hand wrapped securely around him, stroking up and down, stopping every few strokes to massage the head.

"Lizzie, if you don't stop, I won't be able to," he groaned, grasping at the pure concentration it required to not finish in her hand. He surely could do better by her than that.

"No Lizzie here, just Officer Mason, at your service," as she continued to drive her hand up and down, faster, rhythmically. His face contorted, his eyes fluttered back as she brought him close to the edge. Pulling her hand out, she grabbed his wrist and rolled them, pinning his hands to the mattress. Lizzie crawled backward and worked carefully to remove his shorts as his impressive erection bobbed. The sight of him made her mouth water, but as soon as she had that thought and dipped her head to get a taste, he sprang into action, sitting and hooking an arm around her middle. Using his considerable upper body strength, he pulled her around to land on her knees, her head nearly hitting the headboard.

She tossed a Cheshire-like grin over her shoulder as he prowled toward her. He pulled her back flush against his chest, moving her hair aside to nibble her earlobe as his hands worked the front clasp of her bra. As he peeled it off of her, he took a moment to hook his chin on her shoulder, admiring her stunning form. She dropped to her hands, giving him a perfect view of her perfect ass, which he wasted no time in appreciating with his hands. Lizzie was lost in the feel of his hands smoothing over her bare skin until she realize he was against her now, his hand reaching down to her entrance to test her heat.

He tried to take his time, moaning when the tip of him met her heat, gliding in until he finally bottomed out. They moaned and hummed in tandem at the feeling, warm, wild and overpowering. Slowly, he began to rock back and forth, knowing immediately he wouldn't last. Not with her. Not like this. Not their first time.

She pushed back toward him, eager to do anything to please him. He bent over her, grasping at her breasts with one hand and holding on to her ass for dear life with the other. At this angle, he was hitting the same spot he had discovered earlier and he knew it. He held out, though, waiting for her orgasm before he finally let go, grunting as he did. The sounds coming out of him were incredible and she only wished that she could have captured his facial expressions as he came. Another time, she thought.

He collapsed on top of her and rolled them both to their sides, keeping their sweaty and exhausted bodies close. After she had collected herself and her erratic breathing returned to a normal pace, she shifted on the bed, lying toward him and hooking her leg over his.

"Well, that was…interesting," she tried.

"Interesting, good?" he asked, instantly feeling overcome with nervousness.

"Mm. Red, that was incredible," she said, finally getting to play with the soft curls on his chest.

"After all that, you're still going to call me Red?"

"Raymond is pretty formal and I've never really like the shortened version. You have a nickname for me, can't I have one for you?"

He leaned over, smiling wide and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Maybe we need to come up with something, just for us. Something private," he offered, almost whispering.

She considered that for a moment. _Just for us_ , he said. She beamed at him, threading her fingers together at the back of his neck and pulling him close, their breath mingling.

"Whatever you say, Officer."

* * *

 _A/N: Lord, I apologize for looking at Officer Hottie WAY too much this week. And for writing this smut-crack-cop-kink-fic. Disclaimed, as always, although I'd give ANYTHING to be pulled over for speeding by Sergeant Reddington. Un-beta'd, un-edited, un-holy and all that jazz. This is a huge first for me and your precious comments would mean the world. Xoxo, MMB_


End file.
